MIRA

The next morning, Jackson’s gaze lingers on me, slowly studying how I serve with a bad finger.

“How’s your finger? Did the ointment work?” He observes

“Yes Thanks. The pain has subsided.” I reply, moving my gaze everywhere but his. I don’t know what to believe anymore. Did he genuinely care about me or was all that some act he’s trying to keep up in front of people. A way to manipulate me, make me bend to his will by drawing me in and pulling me out.

“My hand is fine, I ...